The First Holy Grail War
by See No Dum-Dums
Summary: Set in old Britain, when the Kinghts of the Round Table searched for the original Grail.  Can't exactly place this into the Anime Category... but... here. Disclaimer: King Arthur,Arthuria Pendragon only borrowed from Fate  Stay Night. ON HOLD
1. The Curse and the Quest

**Disclaimer**: the character of King Arthur / Arthuria Pendragon is merely borrowed from Type-Moon's Fate / Stay Night. The rest are derived from Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur.

**Chapter 1 – The Curse and the Quest**

"_Alaith lanain carach ektros,_

_garod ancalor, danas maithe!"_

It was a woman's voice. Swathed in a great black robe, face covered by an emotionless golden mask, the witch poured a colorless potion from a crystal vial into a large water-filled cauldron. A deathly green light emanated from the depths of the cauldron after the steam cleared and the hissing ceased. The witch continued her chant:

"_From the Shadows I call thee back_

_I summon the power of Magic Black_

_From my womb let a child spring_

_And set him against Arthur King."_

An image began to form on the surface of the green mixture: a knight he seemed, golden-haired, with shining emerald eyes, and with a bold, stern gaze. But after a moment the contents of the cauldron boiled, distorting the figure of the knight. Great bubbles issued forth – and burst into fresh red blood…

"NO!"

King Arthur awoke with a start; his yellow locks swaying uneasily as his bright green eyes darted across the expanse of darkness surrounding him. The sight of a red dragon upon a white field hanging on the walls greeted him: it was his standard, the very same that his father King Uther once bore. Had he…

"MY KING!" a knight had opened the door with such great force; the bright light of evening candles quickly diffused into the king's chambers such that Arthur was momentarily blinded. "Are you alright?"

_Had I been screaming again? _wondered the king.

"I had a dream… no… a vision…"

The knights were gathered inside the great hall of Camelot. Its walls were adorned by rich tapestries depicting victories against the rebel kinglets, the Saxons, the Irish, and even the Romans, and here and there the flag of the king fluttered in its majesty. But the centerpiece of the hall was the Round Table, around which the high men of Camelot sat, their swords laid much like rays radiating from the disk at the Table's center. One character was standing, wearing steel-plated armor over a cerulean garment. He was none other than King Arthur.

"My sister, Morgana, is planning an evil stroke against Camelot," he proclaimed. The knights stirred uneasily upon the mention of Morgana, the king's half-sister and an evil witch.

"Are you sure of this, my lord?" asked a knight two seats to Arthur's left.

"Indeed. I am sure of this."

More dark mutterings ensued. Was it also not Morgana who induced Sir Accolon to kill the king? She would have succeeded had the Lady of the Lake herself not intervened and saved Arthur from certain death.

"What are we to do?"

The king clenched his steel fists; his eyes were sharp and bright as fire-tempered blades.

"We might have no other choice … but to attack at once."

The Knights of the Round Table once again took counsel with each other. Another attack? Indeed an offensive is a good defense for the kingdom, if they were sudden in assaulting Morgana's stronghold in the Lost Forest. But they had just ended a grueling war in Gaul! Had they not heard of the clamoring of the people behind the king's back? "Peace! Peace!" they cried out. "Since Arthur became king we never had peace. Another war will ruin us. We must have peace, even if it means pulling King Arthur down. Peace!"

Peace! Peace indeed!

But the Round Table was stilled – a strange apparition manifested itself at the Table's center. For a moment the nobility of Camelot perceived only a fierce light; their gaze could not withstand its blinding brightness. But after a moment the light subsided a little; in its midst was a most beautiful cup: it was as pristine as diamond, and upon it were set sapphires and rubies and emeralds as well as many more precious gems, and carved upon the cup, with letters finer than the finest brushstroke (and yet plain for all to see), were these lines:

_Seek ye for mine power if thou art pure_

_And thy one wish shalt be granted sure._

And then the light and the cup were gone.

The king was deep in his thoughts. _Could it be –?_

"That is it! That is the answer: the Holy Grail!"

The other knights were astounded. "The Holy Grail?" they asked among themselves. The king reacted differently, however. "What do you mean, Sir Perceval?" he exclaimed, spinning quickly to face the long-haired knight with far-seeing eyes.

"My lord," answered Sir Perceval, "legends claim that the Holy Grail, which resides inside castle Corbenic, can fulfill the heart's desire of its finder. If one pure enough can find it –"

"Then I shall find it!" cried a knight in crimson armor; he was Sir Gawain, whose pale hair was tied into a high not, and whose sharp eyes would pierce every single person who met his stare. "By my oath as a knight, I shall search for the Grail, and I shall wish for the undoing of Morgana's plot!"

Most of the knights then followed Sir Gawain: Sir Bors, Sir Lionel, and Sir Perceval himself was among those who swore to find the Grail. And then –

"And I shall go as well, my lord, by life or by death," spoke the knight next to the king.

He was of fair constitution, Sir Lancelot – he who was considered the one of greatest of the Round Table, whose skill was rivaled only by Sir Gawain and by King Arthur himself. Lancelot had flowing ebony locks, luminous night-black eyes, and a splendid suit of armor not unlike the king's own. And his face! It was beautiful, yet, for reasons the knights knew not, sad.

The king closed his eyes for an instant before fixing his green eyes at Sir Lancelot's black ones. "Are you sure of this, Sir Lancelot?" he said in a quiet but firm voice – it was the voice which knights had heard King Arthur use whenever he was in a grim, stern mood. "Your oath will hold you bound: you must find the Grail – or die. There would be no turning back."

"Yes, I am sure, my lord," answered the great knight, bowing his head low.

"Then so be it." Turning to address all the knights, King Arthur announced in a strong, commanding voice:

"_Arise, the, all ye who wouldst venture_

_To find the Grail at its holy ground;_

_By oaths ye have sworn, the quest endure:_

_Sally forth, Knights of the Table Round!"_


	2. Arise as Knight

**Chapter 2 – Arise as Knight**

Shafts of dying sunlight shone through the tall narrow windows of the King's Chamber in Camelot. There, right before the marble dais, knelt a knight with night-black locks and wearing a splendid white armor, offering a great lance to the figure sitting on the high throne, hidden in shadows. A keen unsheathed sword, about three feet long and four inches thick, which hilt was adorned with gold, shone like a bright star against the creeping darkness of twilight.

"I assume you still remember, Sir Lancelot." The shadowy figure said gravely.

"I still remember, my lord," answered the genuflecting knight.

"You owe no birth allegiance to me, my country, and my people," the other recounted, giving weight to the words. "Yet you succored us in our hour of dire need. You were lord of Joyous Guard and of a great nation, were you not? And yet you chose to forsake your domain and be a Knight of the Round Table.

"And now you risk yourself by undertaking a most perilous quest." The speaker's tone was as cold as the winter blasts. "Why so, Sir Lancelot? Do you truly wish to throw your life away?"

A proud smirk played through the knight's lips. "You already know the answer to that," he replied with a rich, confident tone. He had always spoken like that. "And besides, I live my life for adventure's sake."

"If so – very well, then. You have my blessing." Then, the other continued in a more powerful voice, "Now, arise, knight! Fulfill thy oath!"

The knight, Sir Lancelot, got up to leave. But before completely passing through the archway leading out of the King's Chamber, he turned back to the shadow-cloaked figure.

"Arthuria Pendragon."

"What?!" the other suddenly gasped. Iron fists wavered upon the mentioning of that long-forgotten name.

"That name has long been unused, right?" The long ebony hair of the great knight danced like a wave as he walked out of the chamber. "Perhaps you ought to forget about your country too, if only for a while."

The other's face caught the last saffron beams of light. Her narrowing eyes flamed like emerald fires.

And Excalibur in her right hand shone like the evening star.

* * *

Away from the castle… 

A tall knight, Sir Hector, walked into the stables. It was dark inside, and it reeked with the scent of the warhorses' manure. But thank heavens that he did not have to linger there; he needed only his horse, Morengo, and the stable lad was already there, gearing his steed.

"Haste, lad!" ordered the knight. "Morengo must be readied for the long journey!"

The stable lad finished fitting the horse's harness. "Yes, sir," he answered.

The stable lad looked very much like Sir Lancelot.

* * *

Sir Hector returned to the Court of Camelot, accompanied by his friend, the great Sir Gawain. They were discussing about provisions for the long search when – 

"See that seat yonder, Sir Gawain?" Sir Hector exclaimed upon viewing the Round Table. "Methinks I never saw it before."

The seat was truly newly arisen. It was of pure white marble, adorned by a gold-embellished frame, and on the frame was an inscription:

_Siege Perilous_

"Siege Perilous?" uttered the tall knight in awe. "How can such a beautiful chair hold such a great danger? Perhaps only a great knight can dare venture sitting on it."

"Is that so?" There was a strange gleam in Sir Gawain's grey eyes. "Then I must attempt to sit on this Siege Perilous."

And Sir Gawain would indeed set himself on Siege Perilous had a friar not stopped him.

"Halt, Sir Gawain!" the friar cried out. "Do you know not your own peril?! Only the best knight may sit there, my son! Death would be the price a vain knight must pay for claiming the Siege Perilous."

The crimson-armored knight furrowed his long eyebrows. "And I, Sir Gawain, am not fit?"

"Nay. But nor is Sir Lancelot, nor Sirs Perceval, Bors, and Lionel – nor the king himself."

At that the friar left, leaving the two knights in awe.

Word of the mysterious chair spread throughout the court, reaching the ears every knight – and even those of the king.

* * *

The stable lad searched for Sir Hector, desiring to tell him that Morengo was ready. He went up into Camelot. Camelot, the Golden Castle of the King! Had he not often wondered what was it like inside, with the noble Knights of the Table for company? And the king! True, some claimed that he was a cold-blooded tyrant – but he believed otherwise. The king was just. He governed his country well and saved his people from enemies. Such was the Camelot he knew. 

After a brief inquiry, the wardens (who knew him well, him being the caretaker of their steeds) allowed the stable lad in. It was his first time to enter Camelot. And what splendor! He slowly made his way through the antechamber, beholding the high pillars supporting the vaulted roof, the rich tapestries hanging on the immense stone walls, and on the tall statues guarding the hall.

And then there was the great hall, and the far-famed Round Table, surrounded by the banners of the king: a red dragon roaring on a white field. Words failed to describe the grandeur of the court to the lad.

_What was it like to be a knight?_ he wondered. Yes. He longed to be a part of King Arthur's circle. And then he saw it: one chair was more beautiful than the others. It was of pure white marble, and it was adorned by a gold-embellished frame. _What was it like?_

_What was it like?_

"By the king!!!"

The lad rose up from the chair; he was caught! One of the knights saw him as he sat on the beautiful chair – was it allowed for a peasant to sit around the Round Table?

"Comrades! Friends! Come and see!" cried the knight.

_What am I to do?_ the stable lad said to himself in panic. He decided to run before the other knights arrive.

"Halt, boy!"

He was doomed: the great Sir Lancelot himself was standing before him.

But instead of chastising him, the renowned knight gave him a shrewd look and a curious smile.

"You sat on the Siege Perilous, lad?"

The boy was stunned. "I – I – I did not know it was called that, sir," he stammered. "Please, sir – I was o-o-only going to t-t-tell Sir Hector that Morengo is r-ready…"

All the knights laughed.

"There is no need to fear, lad," said Sir Lancelot. "Lo! The king is come."

The lad grew more terrified instead. The king!

The king was – beautiful. He was young, (and not of great height, if truth be told) with tied flaxen hair and bright emerald eyes. Yet to the lad he seemed the keenest of blades – the king was of stern built, and arrayed with a formidable armor over his blue dress. And he held a bright sword. _Excalibur_…

"What is your name, lad?" the king inquired.

"G-Galahad, your majesty," the boy replied, drawing back at the sight of King Arthur's legendary sword.

"Galahad of the Siege Perilous." The king drew closer, raising Excalibur. Galahad could only close his eyes…

…Cold steel laid itself upon his shoulder…

"By St. George and by my father Uther, I, King Arthur Pendragon, dub thee knight of the Round Table. Arise as Kinght!" Upon hearing those words Galahad opened his eyes in disbelief.

The king was smiling; the knights were applauding!

"So it must be, for you have sat upon that which no other knight can sit on without peril. I see that great things will rise from you, _Sir_ Galahad."

_Sir Galahad!_

Lo! A sword suddenly rose out of Siege Perilous: wrought of the finest fire-tempered steel it seemed, and its hilt was as white as the wings of snow.

"Take the sword," the king told the new knight.

Sir Galahad lifted the sword with ease. Then suddenly a white fire of sacred joy blazed within him. He lifted the sword for all to see.

"It seems, friends," declared the king, "that another knight shall join the Quest."

* * *

Arthuria Pendragon thought: _he so resembles the image of Sir Lancelot…_

_Arise as knight, indeed._

* * *

Joyous Guard was Sir Lancelot's home and castle, which he won singlehandedly for himself 


	3. Galahad

**Chapter 3 – Galahad**

Five days had passed since Galahad was knighted as a member of the renowned Round Table, and four days since he went with the other knights to search for the Holy Grail, a sacred vessel that would supposedly grant a single wish, which could provide the only hope against the evil plots of the witch Morgana.

Galahad rode on amid the company of the noble knights. He was now clad in immaculately white armor and equipped with a beautiful sword shining like a white fire. (This sword was indeed the very same he drew from Siege Perilous.) However…

"Something is lacking, young one," spoke a handsome crimson-armored knight, who had slowed down his steed to ride beside him. "But – ah…" he continued, "'tis rather discourteous of me not to introduce myself first. I am Sir Gawain of the Round Table, at thy service."

Sir Gawain stooped himself a little in the direction of the young knight. His grey eyes were glinting as he raised his head to face Galahad once more.

"You are _the _Sir Gawain, sire?!" asked Galahad, who was caught in amazement and surprise upon being addressed by one of the king's best men.

"Verily."

"An honor meeting you, sire!" the lad exclaimed, now bowing in return.

"No. An honor meeting _you_, Knight of the Siege Perilous," answered the other. He smiled, yet his expression remained shrewd. Even his very tone was soft but weighty. "Pray tell, however: how comes it that thou carry no shield? Surely a knight as _esteemed _as thou art – conquering the Perilous Siege was a marvelous feat, I daresay – ought to bear a most handsome device with thee?"

"Ah, taking an interest into the boy now, aren't we, Gawain?" a rich, confident voice called out. Sir Lancelot galloped into view, outrunning even the crimson knight before his horse, Cheval, slowed its pace.

Sir Gawain smirked. "And I fancy that thou caught up with us merely to talk about the weather?"

"Aye," sighed Lancelot, "you jest, yet you're right: I find this young lad curious as well," Then, smiling towards Galahad, he said, "Seems like the tapestry of life has a wonderful tale to make of you yet, lad.

"Mark my words, Gawain, my friend," Lancelot went on. "As for a shield, I believe that destiny shall win one for him. Great deeds shall be performed by this boy's hands."

* * *

"Well, here's where we part ways," declared the great knight, Sir Lancelot, as they reached a swiftly flowing stream, across of which is a dense green wood. "So it must be, for should more parties search for the Grail, greater would be the chances of it being found. Perceval and I shall go and follow the water upstream; Sirs Bors and Lionel have decided to head north; Sirs Gawain and Hector shall turn southeast…"

Galahad barely listened to the destination of the other knights; he was tense, realizing that this was to be his first true adventure. Had he not as a young child heard of tales of peril as he and his friends sat by the night fire? Had he not dreamt of embarking for a quest? But now, now that he was indeed in one…

"Galahad? Sir Galahad?" A tall, young knight (about two years older, perhaps) with a short golden hair beckoned him to come closer. "I am Melias," he stated, holding out his hand (which Galahad, of course, took). "Art thou sallying forth alone?"

Galahad replied at length, "I know not which path to take, Sir Melias."

The other grinned. "Then come with me," he invited. "We shall head for the woods."

* * *

Silence enveloped Galahad and Melias as they entered the woods. It was almost too dark to see, and the gnarled trees, their many boughs long and wide, rose to such heights. Even the air around them felt so cold and heavy, as if the fog was striving to dampen their will and spirit.

Soon the two grew weary. Even their horses, Seraph (Galahad's) and Evander (Melias') were drained of strength.

"I do not understand this!" gasped Sir Melias. "'Twas only but noon since we headed for the woods, yet we are now, drained of strength – and it is still but sunset! What say you to this, Sir Galahad?"

"I do not know, Sir Melias. But I forebode that some ill will is set upon us."

"Morgana, I warrant."

Morgana, the famed witch… Galahad never knew much about her. "What was Morgana like?" he wondered aloud.

Sir Melias narrowed his eyes.

"Even the darkest of stories are not enough to describe her," the blond knight began. "Indeed she is the king's sister, but she has neither the king's honor nor his justice. Elders say she bears a grudge against the king, for his father Uther was the one who killed her own father, and deceived her mother, copulating with her in her father's image. (And so was the king begot.) And yet she was in the king's court in Camelot for a long time, by the right of lineage. But ever did she spin webs of treachery, the murderous spider. By her evil arts she beguiled the noble Sir Accolon, a fellow knight in the Round Table (and this was before I was knighted), and had him attempt to slay the king. But the Lady of the Lake foiled her plan and stayed Sir Accolon's hand. Upon learning of her knight's failure Morgana grew afraid – and out of her fear she did the greatest evil yet: she stole Excalibur's scabbard."

"The scabbard!" Galahad cried out. "The very scabbard which, by the Lady's enchantment, makes the king invincible, you mean?"

"Indeed," Sir Melias answered gravely. "For as long as the king has the scabbard, not a single drop of blood shall leave him. And now it is gone, and the king is vulnerable. Three years have now passed, and Excalibur is still unsheathed." And with that, his tale ended, for he suddenly pointed out to a clearing some distance away. "See that, Sir Galahad? Methinks atop that crag lies a castle! Perhaps we can stay the night there!"

And so the two labored their way to the forest clearing, cutting down stray vines and branches, until they reached the castle. A cold, threatening rampart, fifty feet high, protected the face of the smoothly hewn, thorn-crowned keep, to which was attached turrets with long, narrow windows, seeming like many malevolent eyes squinting, straining to see them. They were astounded with such a show of hostility.

A single voice then shouted a challenge to the two knights: "Halt! What business brings you here? Declare yourselves!"

They answered: "We are Sir Melias and Sir Galahad, new-knight, conqueror of Siege Perilous, both of the Round Table. We shall request lodging from the lord of the castle, if he comes forth."

Then six more voices joined the one, crying out, "We are come! We are the lords here. And as for lodging you shall find here none, only battle. Yield your maidens to us, if you have them with you; if not, then yield your lives!"

And so was the demand the seven made, for they were the seven brothers, lords all of the Castle of Maidens, and it was their evil wont to challenge any knight-errant to combat and claim their ladies. But the noble knights of the Round Table responded, "No maidens we can and shall yield."

"Then die."

The gates of the castle slowly began to open. Out strode forth seven tall knights fully covered in black armor, drawing bloodstained swords which seemed like red fires lit under the twilight sky. Sir Melias dismounted and, drawing his own blade, went to meet them.

"No, Sir Melias!" Galahad called out. "You are outmatched! Now I know whose malice it was that we felt in the woods, and you cannot prevail against such evil!"

But Sir Melias did not listen. He fought the seven. He swung his sword at the tallest one, (presumably the oldest and chief brother) who took a step sideways and with a quick, cruel thrust impaled the knight's flank. And then the six raised their blades to kill…

Galahad sprang forward and set himself against the seven, shielding Sir Melias from their lethal weapons. He drew his own sword – and lo! – it shone as bright as the evening star, blinding the unseen eyes of the seven. Yet the tallest brought down his sword upon Galahad's with as much force as he could muster, but it was in vain; his bloodstained sword shattered into pieces upon contact with the white fire of Galahad's blade. The brothers then realized that set against them was one beyond all seven of them combined; they fled in terror, leaving the injured Sir Melias and his unrivalled companion as well as setting the Castle of Maidens free. Seven maidens then came out of the castle and beheld their hero in awe and jubilance.

But Galahad was now busy tending to his fallen comrade. "Sir Melias!" he exclaimed. "Did I not tell you not to fight the seven? Now you are sorely wounded!"

At that the most beautiful of the freed maidens, who had flowing night-black tresses and bright sapphire eyes, spoke in a soothing voice, "Your friend shall be alright. In his pride and folly he met the seven head-on, yet his cause was noble. He shall be spared from death; we shall take care of him." Galahad felt relieved. "As of you, Sir Galahad of Siege Perilous, we give you a gift in gratitude."

One of the ladies stepped forward, carrying a white shield bearing a red cross. She handed the shield to Galahad.

"Take it," said the fairest of the maidens. "For this shield was meant for you, the purest of knights." And with that they carried Sir Melias back into the castle to be tended of his grave injuries.


End file.
